


A Trade in Flesh

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fíli Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Warnings: Mild spoilers for the movie, NON-CONSENSUAL SEX, Fili angst</b> </p><p>After being left behind in Laketown, Kili falls into a fever from the poison. No one knows what to do, and a desperate Fili decides that he will trade with the Master of Laketown for anything that will help his brother. What Fili hasn't expected is that it isn't Erebor's gold that the Master wants.<br/>Back in Bard's dwelling, Bofur is worried sick and asks the bowman to find Fili and bring him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trade in Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20687615#t20687615

Bofur hates the situation. They’ve done everything and now there’s nothing else that can be done.

Kili’s fallen into a fever, wracked by the poison raging through him. Bard has already emptied his dwelling for every medicinal herb he can find, and still, Oin shakes his head in helplessness. The girls Sigrid and Tilda, and the boy Bain do what they can to help, but it is still not enough. The bowman leaves the house to search for what other remedy that can aid the stricken Dwarf.

Through it all, Fili’s face grows whiter and grimmer with the possibility that _Kili could die_. His hands shake when he thinks no one is noticing. When he takes Bofur aside and speaks to him, there is fear in his voice.

“I would speak to the Master of Laketown,” Fili says. “He has ownership over the wealth of this town. He would have something that can help Kili.” On the last word, his gaze flicks over to his fallen brother and it softens for a moment, before it is yet again replaced by the steely strength Bofur is coming to admire in the lad.

But strength alone would not be able to see the lad through this one. Bofur shakes his head urgently. “You don’t understand, laddie. There are some sicknesses that no medicine can cure – and I’m not talking about Kili. The Master of Laketown is greedy – ”

Fili cuts him off with a hiss. “We will offer him a greater share of Erebor’s gold then. There must be something we can trade.”

Bofur takes the lad’s arm and squeezes it. “He has greed of a different kind. One whose true nature we don’t know!” He knows he is not making much sense. How is he to explain something he doesn’t actually fully comprehend himself? There is something _wrong_ with the Master of Laketown. The way he slurs as if grease coats his tongue, the way his hands twitch with want. Bofur remembers how that oily gaze had lingered upon Fili.

Fili keeps quiet for a long moment. He does not quite meet Bofur’s eyes when he speaks again. “I would do whatever needed to keep Kili safe,” he murmurs. “I made a promise to our mother.” And for a heartbeat, he looks so lost Bofur feels his heart ache.

“Fili…” he tries again.

“Watch over him, Bofur, please,” the lad says at length, lifting his chin resolutely. “I won’t be long.”

Bofur watches Fili leave, feeling a sense of loss that he does not understand.

++++++++++

“What do you need?”

Fili keeps his gaze straight. He has been stripped of his weapons at the door and now stands before the master of the dwelling. The garments Bard has lent to the company feels thin over his skin. It is threadbare and held together only by the belt at his waist. Beneath the scrutiny now searing into him, Fili feels vulnerable. Exposed.

“Medicine,” Fili replies, as politely as he can.

The Master of Laketown throws his head back with a guttural laugh, his heavy jowls rippling. “That would cost you a pretty penny, _my boy_.” Behind him, the servant Alfrid echoes his master, grinning in malignant mirth.

Fili has not been referred as such since he grew into adulthood. It reeks of condescension, and an intimacy that repulses him. “The Company will retake Erebor from the clutches of the dragon,” he says, his voice steady. “Laketown will share in the wealth that is restored to my kin. Help my brother, and I give you my word that our King will recompense you most dearly.”

The man laughs again and this time, it is edged with malice. “You speak of Thorin as if he is already King.”

“He _is_ ,” Fili snaps, unable to stem his anger in time. Realising his error, he backs down and steadies his voice. “It is only a matter of time before the quest ends in victory. But my brother needs medicine now. Help us.” He knows he is a scant inch away from begging and he wonders if that is what he will resort to before the night is over.

“Hmm…” the Master leans back comfortably in his seat, lounging upon it like a massive toad. “King, and not uncle?”

Fili draws in a quick, sharp breath.

The man’s lips curl up. “He abandons his nephews in a strange town. At my mercy.”

 _No._ Yet it is too late. The memory of Thorin leaving Kili behind and bidding Fili to do the same surfaces again in Fili’s mind like a bitter aftertaste. When the crowds had dispersed, Fili still stared into the mist over the lake, straining his eyes until all that could be seen of his comrades and uncle were but hazy shadows.

Left behind and left to their fates.

Exhaustion begins to creep into Fili’s veins. He is tired. “Name your price, then,” he spits out. He wants to be done with this talk and he is done playing word games.

“Oh, come now, Master Dwarf,” the man cajoles, his stance changing. He beckons Fili with one hand, stroking his thin moustache with the other. “We will discuss this properly. Come stand in the light and we will make a trade.”

It goes against every battle instinct within Fili. One does not approach an enemy lightly, and one must not be entrapped in a disadvantageous position. But Kili – his little brother is lying there and screaming, _screaming_ in pain. Fili forces down his disgust and bids himself to move.

The Master means for him to stand right by his seat as if he is a cut of meat to be displayed. Up close, the man looks fouler than ever. It is not so much in the lank hair plastered across his scalp, or the monstrous girth of him, but the cruelty in his countenance. He embodies the very ugliness of covetousness.

“Now, golden Dwarf,” the Master says silkily, and they both hear the shift in his tone. Something in his timbre makes Fili’s skin crawl. “I offer you a bag of gold. Enough to get you any medicine in my town.”

That sounds fair. Fili tries not to let his eagerness show on his face. “And in return, what is your demand?” he says levelly.

“Treasure, of course,” the Master’s smile darkens as he lifts his hand, fingers crawling through the air towards Fili’s belt. “That which is more precious than what the Dwarf King can offer me. His _own_ flesh and blood.”

Fili’s hand snaps out and clamps onto the wrist of the other man. His grip is iron and he feels the grind of weak bones under his touch. How easily he can break the man’s hand. But he is trapped by futility. He knows now the kind of greed the Master revels in, and his stomach churns in horror.

The price is too high. Fili’s chest tightens and he cannot breathe. But if it would ease Kili’s suffering – delay Kili’s end? Flesh is but a shell. And if Fili’s body can be exchanged for gold, surely it is worth it.

Releasing his breath and sickened to the very core of his being, Fili drops his grip, and the man’s smile twists into a triumphant leer.

“Alfrid,” the Master commands.

The servant deposits a bag of gold upon the table, its metallic clang chiming too loudly in the stifling air. Then Alfrid retreats, but not before letting his gaze rake over Fili in venomous derision.

_Whore._

He remembers the rest of the night in muddied snatches of noise and images.

His back meets the table in a painful thud, his body jerking as his breeches are ripped free. He is naked and vulnerable, and he cannot hide from the lecherous gaze that feasts upon him. Bile surges up his throat, bitter and pungent. His legs are spread apart and the Master groans in guttural anticipation.

When the mouth descends upon him, Fili closes his eyes and thinks of home in Ered Luin. He does not want to be here. _Where is Kili?_ The stinging grows worse behind his eyes, throbbing in his head as he is betrayed by his own body. His shaft stiffens and swells, growing hard from the unwanted pleasure tormenting him. It goads the Master even more, whose mouth grows greedier over Fili’s flesh, forcing Fili to partake in his own violation. Nausea rises dizzyingly in Fili’s chest. He will not let himself enjoy this. He cannot enjoy this.

But he climaxes, body arching uncontrollably even as he bites through his lip. The copper-salty tang of blood floods his mouth and he spills his shame into the Master’s waiting throat. Greasy lips tug relentlessly at him until his flesh grows soft yet again.

 _Look how eager you are_ , the Master coaxes him and scorns him in turns. _You like my touch, little slut?_

Fili opens his eyes and stares blankly at the bag of gold lying next to his face. His skin is cold. He is shoved roughly onto his front and his stomach turns. Red-streaked saliva trickles from his ruined lip.

_Now, be good, my pretty pet._

Pretty. Hair like gold, that’s what he’s been told. He sells himself now for the real thing. All the gold in Erebor isn’t enough for a trade. But _Fili_ is.

Hysteria hovers at the edges of Fili’s consciousness.

Fingers prepare him with oil and perverse relish. They twist inside him, hurting him, toying with him, digging into him in time to a voice murmuring spiteful lust into his ears. _Tighter than a virgin lass, sweet thing._ Then the fingers pull out, and Fili grasps the bag in a fit of blind panic. No, he must not be taken in this way. He has never – he has never lain with anyone like this.

_No._

That is Fili’s last thought before impossibly thick, blunt flesh ploughs into him. Agony cramps his entire body and his legs buckle, but more than that – _more than that,_ his defilement is complete. The scream starts in the pit of his chest and escalates, tearing up his throat and ripping free from his mouth. He cannot stop, silencing himself only with his own fist shoved against his teeth, strangling his screams into fitful gasps.

A meaty hand tangles into his hair, digging his head into the table even as his body is shoved back and forth with each lunge. A sweating, slobbering face rubs against Fili’s cheek. The sour stench of sweat fills Fili’s nostrils.

Fili’s teeth tear into the skin of his hand and the sharp burst of pain finally allows his mind escape. If he can fall asleep and never wake…Again he thinks of home and a gentle, warm hand brushing away the curls from his eyes. _Sleep, my dear._ The raking of flesh through his insides dulls to a leaden ache.

Wetness begins to seep down his thighs.

A heavy pounding shatters the air.

Suddenly dragged back to the present, Fili’s eyes track deliriously around the chamber. _He needs to leave_. He can feel the Master’s thrusts growing heavy and urgent. Groans reverberate against his neck, and Fili begins to struggle, kicking out with his legs. He cannot be marked like a whore.

“No,” Fili hears himself croak, clawing frantically at the table. “Stop. No. _No!_ ” His voice rises to a ragged cry.

Commotion thunders into the chamber.

And the sickening weight crushing Fili is gone.                             

++++++++++

Bard does not stop to think about what he may find in the chamber when he hauls aside that snivelling worm, Alfrid. So he is not ready – as if he can ever be prepared for this – when he sees the obscene bulk of the Master bucking into the crumpled body beneath him.

He moves like a man possessed. He takes the Master and tosses him off, silencing the bastard’s squealing fury with a single glance. He’s long heard of the filth that the Master indulges in in the dank pits of his dwelling. And done nothing.

This night, he will pay penance for it.

He knows not how to be gentle with anyone who is not his child, and gentleness does not seem to suit the proud race of Dwarves. But he is most careful as he lays his coat over the pitiful creature strewn on the table. He sees the golden hair, a most unusual colour for a Dwarf, and feels a strange melancholy at the sight of it hanging in dishevelled tatters.

 _Find Fili, please._ That was the plea Bard was besieged with when he returned home. That Dwarf, Bofur, had gone quite mad with worry. There was little Bard could do but to agree to bring his friend back.

What he hasn’t expected is to find only pieces of the Dwarf left. The damage is done.

The small, broken form dresses itself feverishly, hands unsteady, flinching when Bard tells him that they’re leaving _now_. Bard sees the Dwarf’s hesitation and thinks for one unbelievable moment that the Dwarf does not want to go. Then, the Dwarf snatches up the bag from the table and holds it to his chest. The _shame_ radiating from him is palpable.

“Get your _own_ whore, Bard.”

Calmly, the bowman hurls his fist into the Master’s teeth. He feels the _crack_ against his knuckles and smiles grimly at the bastard’s bloodied, spitting rage. He will not take the man’s life, but he can remove the smirk from his grotesque face.

Man and Dwarf leave in silence. Bard slows his steps, knowing from the unsteady gait of the Dwarf that he is in unspeakable pain. But it is not in Bard’s nature to be quiet for long. He is rent with frustration and rage, and he finally stops in his tracks to bend and look into the Dwarf’s face.

 _Really_ look. Going as far as to seize the Dwarf’s shoulders in his hands and stilling him.

“ _Why?_ ” Bard asks.

The word hangs between them like a fragile breath.

“It’s a trade,” the Dwarf replies, his voice flat. “I need to keep Kili safe.” He holds up the bag that he’s taken from the Master. “Payment. Use it well.”

Bard takes the bag, feeling the weight of gold in his palm, and the terrible knowledge of the price that had been paid for it. As if sensing his thoughts, the Dwarf rears back abruptly, pulling free from Bard’s hold. For a brief moment, he looks so young and distressed, like a child reprimanded for a mistake.

Pity spurs the bowman to reach for the Dwarf again, if only to comfort him.

“ _Don’t_ ,” the Dwarf shies away. Panic mounts in his eyes and he sinks onto his knees. For long moments after, he remains doubled over, heaving until there is nothing left in his stomach. When he lifts his face again, his eyes are over-bright.

“It’s over now,” the Dwarf whispers furiously, desperately. “ _It’s done_. You must not tell.” There is a shrill note in his voice. “Promise me. You must not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“I will not. I swear my life upon it,” Bard gives his word. Then he leans forward and he makes another promise, that of vengeance. “But I will not forget this. At the end of all things, when the day of judgment arrives for that beast, I will remember this and he will pay. His death will not be quick.” He pauses, then looks hard into those hopeless, azure eyes. “Do not think any less of yourself, Fili.”

Fili smiles, and it is devastating.

They stay a little longer out there in the growing chill. Bard looks out for any guards searching for them, keeping his back to Fili and allowing the Dwarf temporary sanctuary. Fili cleans himself as best as he can, sobbing so softly only Bard hears him.

When Fili emerges later, he’s aged a decade in a night. _Let’s go_ , he says with eyes dry and dead.

One more tainted soul now joins the ranks of those already sullied.

The bowman casts a last glance over the lake and its rippling waters. The lake is both rebirth and death for his town, and this night, it will mourn for the loss of innocence from this world.

 

 

_finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This is the special hell for those who enjoy Fili angst and suffering. Yep, you know who you are.


End file.
